


Just Flying

by orphan_account



Series: Flying [2]
Category: EastEnders
Genre: Chryed, M/M, Short
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-01
Updated: 2011-12-01
Packaged: 2017-10-26 18:16:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 462
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/286433
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Doing...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Just Flying

Just Flying

 

 

They needed to talk. The last thing they needed was any further misunderstandings; for things to turn to shit simply because they lacked that fundamental understanding of how the other perceived the situation.

Absolutely vital that they sit down and have a good long heart-to-heart; talk about the hurt, the betrayal, the lack of trust, the fear, the grief, the regret.

But he hadn't come there to talk and Christian knew it.

Oh he'd told himself that he would go there to finally get everything out on the table, get down to the heart of the matter regardless of how much it might hurt, how much it might hurt _either_ of them, but when Christian had opened the door and simply looked at him they both knew that he wasn't there to _talk_.

 

**

Christian didn't do anything, let him do it all, watching him always, eyes half-closed or open and intent. He knew exactly what Syed needed, always had, his instincts in this, as always, scarily acute.

Syed needed to be in charge.

He needed to both punish and reward him. Punish him for walking away, reward him for everything else.

Talking was Christian's thing, not his, so he talked, told him what he was going to do – then did it – told him how it felt while he was doing it, asked how it felt when he did it.

He laid himself bare, reaching deep, and bringing it all out into the open: how it felt to be fucked by him, how fucking him felt, how nothing in his life came close to the feeling he got when Christian was inside him, how his tongue had memorised the taste of him, the feel of the veins as it slid along them; how it felt to have him come in his mouth... All of it _told:_ whispered against skin, told eye-to-eye, mouth-to-mouth.

And Christian lay there, watching him, not touching, just there, all of him, every fibre of him there, waiting on him...

It felt good to be here, to shed his skin for him and Syed knew that there was no need for sorry, for explanations. Words just _couldn't_ get them there.

Christian had shed his skin for Syed long ago and had been patiently waiting for him to do the same.

And he understood now, understood why you'd do this for your beloved, because you could only do it when you _knew_ , when you knew, absolutely knew.

He knew.

That was why he hadn't come there to talk. No need. Just shed his skin because he was ready.

And when he was ready Christian allowed him to give up control, took him high and held him there.

“I love you. Always.”

And that was all the talk they needed...


End file.
